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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644843">Unsent Letters from a Heart-Broken Bondsperson</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbeccable/pseuds/imbeccable'>imbeccable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, GOD i was real fuckin lonely huh?, Heartache, Internalized Homophobia, Loneliness, Love Letters, M/M, POV First Person, Yearning, also imagine tagging 'major character death' for a novel that came out in fucking 1925, catch 17 yr old me projecting onto a 1925 book's protagonist from the 1910's, high school really fuckin be like that huh, i always forget that i wrote this and then i suddenly remember and its hysterical, i am having a fucking ball of a time dudes, this is so fucking ridiculous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:48:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbeccable/pseuds/imbeccable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unsent letters dictating the true feelings of one Nick Carraway, with a single unwitting response from the one who owned his heart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unsent Letters from a Heart-Broken Bondsperson</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy the-great-gatsby-is-now-public-domain-year!</p><p>i wrote this for school. like for an actual fucking project. <em>I read one of the letters in front of my fucking class. <strong>I bought and wrote it out in a whole gay ass leather-bound book.</strong></em> My teacher really fucking just let me do that adsfasdfjsalfsafas</p><p>God I wish I had that confidence still. To write gay-ass fanfiction about an English classic's main character hardcore simping for its title character and to turn it in for a final project without blinking an eye. I'm literally still proud of it too, wtf. 17 yr old me had such big dick energy and I didn't even <em>know</em> at the time.</p><p>Anyway. To the five people who will read this, I hope you fucking like it. I got an A on the project because of fucking course I did.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>    Dear Gatsby,</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It has been some time since I last wrote you, my friend. Though you are but a short walk from here, I can’t help but enjoy the writing of these with you. Or rather, for you, what with the lack of response. Though I suppose that is hardly your fault. You have yet to see these, and if it is within my power, you never will.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Still, it brings me some joy knowing my thoughts are safe with the imaginary you with which I send these letters. It keeps me sane to write them down as well, for if not, then they would crowd my mind until it were to burst at the very seams. Perhaps, had it been a different time… </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Pardon me, it seems that I’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent and have neglected inquiring of you. How have you been? Fine, I hope. I do wish my dear cousin Daisy has been treating you well. I can only imagine the joy she brings you after all those years of waiting. I wonder what it feels like to be so happy. I bet it feels wondrous, like you were king of the world, or maybe it feels as if you were drifting down a gentle stream with nothing but the peace and calm around you. Or perhaps it feels as if you were right there, within dear Daisy’s arms, with not a care in the world. Perhaps that sort of happiness feels like home.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>However it feels, know that I am thrilled you feel that way. As much as my heart may ache, knowing your happiness is secured is all I wish for. Maybe soon I may feel that as well. After all, there is only one way to get rid of the terrible feelings that invade my thoughts with every waking moment with you. I need a distraction. Yes, a distraction is the perfect way to bury these feelings once and for all. Perhaps Ms. Baker would agree to help me.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>In any case, I’ve kept you too long, dear friend. I will leave you to your happiness.</span>
</p><p><strike><span>Forever yours</span></strike> <span>Nick</span></p>
<hr/><p>
  
  <span>To My Gatsby</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I know it has only been less than a week since my last letter, but I couldn’t help myself from writing another. My attempts at burning these sinful feelings away with the unwitting help of Jordan Baker have so far proven fruitless, but I believe it is only a matter of time before my heart returns to normal. Until then, I am in need of some way to relieve my aching heart, and the only harmless option is, unfortunately, writing to you, </span>
  <strike>
    <span>my dear</span>
  </strike>
  <span> Gatsby.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Today was a gloomy sort of day. You of course would know this, what with your living next door, but it is still worth noting. It is a strange phenomena for the middle of the summer, to have such rain. I almost felt as if God Himself were crying tears of sorrow this day. It has put me in a bit of a depressing mood, unfortunately, so if I end up being a bit down when writing, I beg your forgiveness. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I could hardly work today. The rain was pouring outside of my building and I could do nothing to stop myself from staring. It was almost beautiful to me, watching the raindrops drip down the windows. I am normally not one for rain, but I suppose there is always a time and place for everything. Still, I ended up not getting much done. I’m sure that will come back to haunt me, but at the moment I do not care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Admittedly, there is another thing. There had been yet another ache in my heart as I felt myself thinking of you. I don’t know what had come over myself, but all I could think of was, if this were a different time, a different place, a different world, even, how you and I could have been at home, a shared home, before a fire with a warm blanket around both of our shoulders and cups of hot cocoa in our hands. I could not stop myself from imagining that and imagining that perhaps we were happy </span>
  <strike>
    <span>and even in love</span>
    <span>.</span>
  </strike>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Well never mind that. Even if that may be so in a different time, place, or world, the world you and I live in is not one of those, and you’d rather curl up with Daisy before that fire with those cocoas and that blanket cocooning you together. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I apologize. I have gotten overly emotional over imaginary things. Perhaps I won’t save this one after all.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Regretfully,</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Nick</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
  <span>Gatsby</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I will start off by apologizing for the sorry state of which I left our last letter. The gloom of the day had seemed to have gathered me up and taken me over. I do hope you’ll forgive me. You do not need to have your happiness sullied by my terrible sorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>In any case, I beg your forgiveness and promise that I will do better. In this world we live in, the thoughts I have of you are inappropriate and wrong, and so as much as I may dream of the different time, place, and world I wrote of in the last letter, I will do my absolute best to stomp this issue into the ground where it may finally rest for good. I promise.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Yes, soon you will not have to worry, my friend. You will be able to spend your time with dear Daisy in peace, with your best friend always supporting you.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Your truest friend</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Nick</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  
  <span>Dearest Gatsby</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Your last party was magnificent and exciting as always, Jay. They always have been. I know you felt Daisy didn’t enjoy herself, but she absolutely did. If anything, it would have been Tom that made her a bit gloomy by the end of it. She seems to love doing anything as long as it’s with you, you know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Though I suppose you would already know this, since you’ve been spending so much time together. But perhaps not. Even people in love can be blind sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Speaking of blindness, I cannot tell if it is your obliviousness or my own secret-keeping that keeps my longing for you under wraps. I feel it is radiating from me like the sun on the earth, and yet there is not a peep from you. Maybe you are trying to ignore it, to spare my feelings or even your own, or maybe you simply do not see, once again blinded by your own love for Daisy. Perhaps all you see is her. I cannot say for sure whether that is a blessing or a curse. For now I suppose I will say it is both, for it keeps our friendship blooming while simultaneously breaking my heart in two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    As you can see, I’ve broken the promise I’ve made to you. It seems love will not be so easily ignored. I knew this in the back of my mind, but figured that if I wished it so, then maybe this love and longing and lust would do as I command. Maybe it would return to the dark creases of my mind, buried under a false love of Jordan, or under a workload twice the size of your home. I, of course, was wrong. One does not simply ignore the passionate feelings of the heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    So I apologize, dear Gatsby, but I cannot simply ignore this feeling anymore. I am in love with you, Jay Gatsby, and my heart breaks because you will never feel the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    I almost feel anger. Hostility. How dare you steal my heart like this? How dare you make me feel this way about another man, of all things? How dare you then give your heart to my dear second cousin? How dare you make me live with this pain? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    But you do not know, and even if you did, you would not be responsible. The heart wants what it wants. Mine wants you. Yours wants Daisy. It was just not meant to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Once again, perhaps in a different time, a different place, a different world. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    With love,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Nick</span>
</p>
<hr/><p><span>    My </span><strike><span>darling</span></strike> <strike><span>loving</span></strike> <strike><span>truest</span></strike><span> dear Gatsby,</span></p><p>
  <span>    It is an emptiness I feel. It is strange, feeling empty. It feels heavy, like weights in the pits of my stomach, </span>
  <strike>
    <span>like how you were as we carried you away,</span>
  </strike>
  <span> but it is nothingness. There is nothing in me. Just this gaping hole where love and happiness used to reside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Did you feel it? Were you in pain? Did you go slowly, with no mercy? Or was God kind to you? Was it quick? I don’t know which is worse, knowing you were suffering or knowing you weren’t even granted a last thought, a last word. I wish Daisy would answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    I wonder if you knew. It’s a strange thing to think, at a time like this. You were always a hard read, with how you displayed yourself. I could never tell what you were truly thinking. Your persona was easy, but you yourself… I wonder if you knew. I hope you did. Then maybe you wouldn’t have felt alone. Then maybe I wouldn’t have regrets. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel such loathing for this letter in my hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Yes, I found it. The letter the real you wrote to me. I haven’t read it. I don’t think I ever will. I can’t bring myself to. Then it would mean you were really gone. It would mean that this book had reached its conclusion. I don’t want this ending. I don’t like this ending. You had worked so hard to find your happiness, so why did it have to end this way? I don’t care if I wasn’t included, you were so, so very happy, and then it was taken away from you, and then the world took your life right after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Where is Daisy? I thought she loved you as much as you loved her. Where is she? Why hasn’t she called, or written, or come? Gatsby, Jay, I thought she loved you. That was why I never told you outright, because you two were so very happy together, but where is she now? Why did she disappear? Was it all a lie? Did she play you for the love stricken fool you were? Did I break my own heart into pieces for some game she played by herself? Did she maybe get some sort of thrill from knowing she so easily played the two new men in her life?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    I don’t think I’ve felt so angry in my entire life. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such hatred. This could have been avoided. Maybe if I had told you, maybe if I hadn’t gone through with your confounded plan, maybe if I hadn’t even moved East in the first place</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    I’m sorry. I can’t open your letter. I don’t know what you could have written in it, but I’ll never know. I hope you can forgive me. I just… can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    With the last remaining love in my heart,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Nick</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    My dearest Neighbor,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    I feel a bit silly writing this after you’ve only just left my home, but I was struck with a need to tell you something outright. I am not even sure if I will send this, but the doubt in my mind tells me that I will probably not. Perhaps I will have it arranged to be sent to you upon my death, if you have not crossed over before me yourself, but that will be an issue for later. For now, I need only confess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    There is a strange thing in my heart. When once I knew for certain that my heart had been dedicated to Daisy and only her, now I am unsure. There is a bewildering feeling whenever you are within sight. It is nowhere near the disarming burst I feel when locking eyes with Daisy, but it is nevertheless there, and is quite persistent. I thought that you might know, so that there are no secrets between us, for I think of you as my very best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    That is another thing. You are the best of my small number of friends. I have only known you shortly, but I feel connected to you in a way I have never connected with anyone before. I sometimes feel like we would be able to conquer the world together, you and I. It feels like anything could be possible if I had you at my side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    I do not know what these feelings could be. They are entirely different from what I feel towards Daisy. I do not even know why I compare the two. I just know that, in one way or another, I had to let you know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Well, I had better go wait for the inevitable call from Daisy now. I must also go make use of that pool of mine. After all, it hasn’t been used all summer. Until our next meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Your dearest friend,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Gatsby</span>
</p>
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